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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656616">beneath our winter branches, underneath our winter clouds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missveils/pseuds/missveils'>missveils (Missveils)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Inquisitor Dáire Lavellan [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bisexual Solas (Dragon Age), Drabble, M/M, Poetic, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:35:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missveils/pseuds/missveils</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky turns purple as the sun sets, as the forest grows dark and cold. When the calls of the birds go silent, they start to set camp for the night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fen'Harel | Solas/Male Lavellan, Male Lavellan/Solas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Inquisitor Dáire Lavellan [18]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694902</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>beneath our winter branches, underneath our winter clouds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is an old Dalish lullaby, and it goes: </p><p>
  <em>Ma garas mir renan-<br/>Ara ma'athlan vhenas.<br/>Ara ma'athlan vhenas.</em>
</p><p>The sky turns purple as the sun sets, as the forest grows dark and cold. When the calls of the birds go silent, they start to set camp for the night.</p><p>Solas smiles as he finds himself humming a song as they settle for the night. A Dalish song that he has probably heard from Dáire or his sister. He cannot remember any lyrics, but the tune is filled with melancholy and longing. </p><p>Dáire sets his things down and works on picking up twigs fallen from the nearby trees. A campfire lit with magic does not need to be fed through the night and will stay warm under the snowfall, but the flames need to catch and start burning first. </p><p>Solas lights up the fire. He welcomes the warmth, but even more so the light. He watches Dáire’s face on the other side of the campfire. The stray lock of hair falling between his eyes that he wishes he could tuck behind his ear just now. The freckles scattered over his face, all of them memorised one by one. The eyes that just so casually can see right through his soul. </p><p>Dáire watches the fire catch on the kindling, feeling its warmth drive away the chill of the night wind. And still, he walks around the campfire and sits in front of Solas, resting against him, sheltered and safe. From the cold, from the wind, from the dark. He starts speaking stories into being. Half-asleep as he is, they do not make much sense, they repeat and loop on themselves, but e continues to fill the night with his voice.</p><p>Solas rests in silence, staring into the fire until sleep finally falls over him. He settles down next to Dáire, his back to the fire. One hand resting on him, as if holding onto a lifeline. </p><p>Dáire wraps himself tightly in his cloak and huddles close to Solas. The night is cold, colder than the one before.</p><p>In the dark of some ancient ruins, illuminated by the glow of a campfire, Solas falls asleep at the foot of a mural, the silver paint from Dáire’s hair still on his fingertips.</p><p>In the middle of a clearing with the snow falling over him, Dáire falls asleep curled up at the foot of a statue to Fen’Harel, his hand resting close to the fire. </p><p>There is an old Dalish lullaby, and it goes: </p><p>
  <em>Follow my voice-<br/>I will call you home.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I will call you home.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry =') </p><p>Dáire Lavellan belongs to @littlegumshoe on Tumblr </p><p>(all my titles are just iron &amp; wine lyrics now like not gonna lie)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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